


we'll feel alright,

by izurulovesboats



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: (because the author needed to write smth soft), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, graphic descriptions of blood magic, probably out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 14:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izurulovesboats/pseuds/izurulovesboats
Summary: cause we'll work it out.(you ever think abt what would happen if blood magic had some thaumcraft elements, like warp? because i do. occasionally.)





	we'll feel alright,

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY IVE BEEN LIKE DEAD, FIRST OFF,,,, SCHOOLS KILLIN MY MOTIVATION 
> 
> secondly, hi helllo i forgot i already had a fic like this... oops! oh well! it was fun 2 write so dont kill me pls kthx

It was just like any other day Strife came over. Parvis confidently dragging him over to the altar to tell him what he’s upgraded and what he’s fixed, how he’s getting more powerful with every waking day. Parvis always found it a little bit odd, how Strife looked so worried over him when he’d say something like that. Why would he be? As far as he’s concerned, Parvis knows what he’s doing.

He likes to think he does, at least. 

The same patterns came and went, and Parvis got to work again, doing his usual sacrificing and watching every slice proving itself more useful than the last. He thought the way the blood dripped from his arm, and how it made the altar hum in response, was so mesmerizing. How the thick liquid would boil and sink into the green-tinted blood orb in the middle of the altar. It gave him peace of mind, just looking at it. 

It would’ve, at least, had he not heard faint whispers directly to the right of him. He turns away from the altar, quick to turn where he heard the voice. He blinks in confusion, glancing at the only other person who he can see in the room, Strife, who’s not only tinkering with a pipe for Parvis’ sorting system, but also  _ nowhere near _ Parvis. 

His confusion only heightens when more whispers get  _ louder _ and  _ closer _ than the last ones do, but this time, its to the left of him, leaving him facing the altar again as he jumps at the sudden voices. Seconds feel like minutes as the voices project straight into his ears, and he’s numb to himself dropping the dagger. It’s loud. He hovers over the altar, gripping onto its edges, and once his skin comes into contact with the altar, it’s like the volume was turned up to its maximum. He can’t bear this.  _ Why is it so loud? Why-- Why is the altar talking to me? _

** _Why can I understand what it’s telling me?_ **

-

It was just like any other day Strife came over. The usual explanation came about what Parvis was working on, and Strife would always nod on concerningly, listening and questioning when appropriate. It was the same pattern, and it all set the scene for a normal day of Parvis’ blood magic shenanigans. And, as usual, he found something to do while Parvis occupied himself with the potty-mouthed magic; A few of the pipes on Parvis’ sorting system broke, god only knows how, and Strife made himself busy by trying to fix them, while simultaneously grumbling about how inconvenient the system was.  _ One of these days, I may as well just fix it for him, _ he thinks, as he taps his wrench against the pipe,  _ If he’s not going to, then I’ll just-- _

His thought stops in the middle of his sentence, to the sound of a utensil clattering against a hard floor. He looked down, and sure enough, his wrench was still in his hand.  _ What was that? _

He looked over from his spot next to the crafting table, to look at Parvis’ still form. He’s gone from his usual confident stance of holding his arm over the altar while he bleeds, to using the altar to keep standing, shaking and hunched over the blood boiling in the altar while an open cut runs blood down the side; His dagger was the one that made the noise, evidently splattering some of Parvis’ blood where it landed, a few feet away from the bloodmage. 

“Parvis?” He calls out to him, to no response. Did he hear him? “Parvis!” He tries again, yet to no avail. He bites his lip, worry at the corners of his mind as he sets his wrench down and cautiously steps over the dagger and up the tiers of the altar, beside the bloodmage. He examines him, and Parvis seems empty. His amber eyes are dilated as he stares into the bubbling altar, and his face seems drained of the energy he had only hours ago. He gently sets his hand on Parvis’ shoulder, only to have him flinch away, looking back at Strife with tears pooling in his eyes. His tone softens, “..A-Alex? What’s wrong?” 

“The a-altar.” He stutters, rushed and panicked, “The altar, it’s.. It’s talking to me.” As his expression gets more pained, he blinks tears trailing down his cheeks, and his breath hitches on his words, “It’s howling at me, words I  _ can’t understand, _ it’s.. It’s--” The last words come out as more of a raspy whisper, and when he continues, he barely has any voice left, “It’s so  _ loud, _ Will.” 

He sinks to the ground beside the altar, and Will follows, watching as he pulls his knees to his chest and presses his back to the altar. Will is careful when scooting closer to him, cautiously prying the bloodmage’s hand out of its grip on his bleeding arm and softly squeezing it.  _ Fuck, there’s going to be blood everywhere. _ “Alex, keep your focus on me.” Will instructs, Parvis nodding as he looks over. “Okay, now, breathe.” 

“I--” He painfully starts, “I  _ can’t _ \--”

“Then follow my lead, okay? In,” he inhales deeply, “and out.” He repeats it a few times as Parvis follows, and when he stops, Parvis is breathing again. Still crying and shaking, but on the road to calming down. It’s a start, at least. “There, see? You’re going to be okay.” 

Parvis only nods in reply, wiping his face off with his free hand. Will watches that arm, looking at the cut that still has blood making it’s way down his arm, along with a few trails of dried blood decorating his arm. “..Give me a second.” He lets go of Parvis’ hand, getting up and beelining to where he knows a first-aid kit is, and brings it back. “Can I see your other arm?” 

The bloodmage presents the injured arm slowly, and Will opens up the first aid kit with held-back exasperation. He really wishes he’d be more cautious with the way he does blood magic. Well, him not doing blood magic at  _ all _ would be a miracle in of itself, but if he could be careful,  _ at least, _ it would make Will feel a lot more comfortable with it all. He grabs the roll of gauze, and starts wrapping it around his arm. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, Will dressing his wound while Parvis stares off into the patterns on the floor. Parvis has always been the silent type when he panics, compared to every other time where he always has something to say. He loses track of time when he finishes wrapping gauze around the slice, and he shuts the first aid kit. “There.” He looks up at Parvis, sighing when he spots a few more tears still on his cheek. He reaches for his cheek, gently wiping some off with his thumb. “You should be all good now, okay?” 

He sniffles, nodding, “Y-Yeah. Thank you, Strife.” He halfheartedly chuckles, “I just.. freaked out. That’s never happened before..” He quiets, his voice still rough, “I don’t like knowing you saw me like that.” 

“It’ll be okay, Parv.” He reassures. moving his hand from the bloodmage’s cheek to his lap. “At least we know that..  _ that _ can happen, and we’ll prepare accordingly. And, besides, you’ve.. seen me panic before. It happens.” 

He nods, and Strife’s heart melts when Parvis smiles at him. “Of all the people, I could’ve chosen, I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

**Author's Note:**

> consider it pictured soft, and i ache


End file.
